


The Morning Rain Reminds You It's Not So Bad

by HauntedClock



Category: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, Other, Rain, cum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29442081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntedClock/pseuds/HauntedClock
Summary: On days off like this, the only thing you need is Mao Mao’s company. What Mao Mao needs, however…
Relationships: Mao Mao Mao/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	The Morning Rain Reminds You It's Not So Bad

The start of a new day greets you with a cordial beckoning. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you do your best to force the drowsiness from your mind. You're feeling comfortable and unusually well-rested, the bright morning sun warming your face through gaps in the off-white blinds that cover the windows of your room. Turning away from the sun, your gaze drifts to another light of a different kind.

Sleeping soundly next to you is Mao Mao, the feline hero of your dreams. The two of you had fallen asleep facing each other, but while you apparently tossed and turned, Mao Mao had not moved an inch. His mouth hangs slightly ajar, and his paws lay one on top of the other—inches in front of his face. The breaths that leave his mouth are slow and steady, and bereft of his usual eponymous snoring. It’s not often you get to see him so relaxed, so peaceful, especially first thing in the morning, and you feel blessed to have awoken to a scene of such pure beauty.

As happy as the sight makes you, there’s a reason it’s so rare. Mao Mao is usually the first to wake and has served, unwittingly albeit dutifully, as your alarm clock for as long as you’ve been living together. Mornings like this have typically happened either when he was sick, or tired from particularly late shifts as the town’s protector. Last night was a case of the latter, where he was stuck patrolling the streets all night in search of a thief who later came to be identified as “bad memory”. Mao Mao was nearing his wit’s end when he came home, so you recommended he take today off. You worked a little of your charm into the request, talked as sweet as he made you feel, and eventually he crumbled—not unlike the cookies you had convinced him to help make some weeks prior.

You'd like to stay here longer, but regrettably you acknowledge that you have some tasks to complete. You find the resolve to pull yourself away from the comfort of your bed and remove the covers from your body. Now exposed to the open air, you experience a chill that briefly sends shivers from your head to your feet and back up again. You swing your feet over the edge of the bed and plant them on the cold hardwood floor. Carefully, slowly, you push yourself up and away from the bed so as to not disturb Mao Mao's slumber. You make sure Mao Mao is still asleep before making your way to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror closest to the bathroom door, above a porcelain basin, you stare blankly at your reflection as you scrub your teeth for the recommended two minutes. About halfway into your dental hygiene routine, you're interrupted by two weak knocks at the bathroom door. You open the door with your free hand and greet the man waiting for you on the other side. “Good morning,” you say without removing the toothbrush from your mouth.

A long, loud yawn escapes the maw of your feline partner. You’re greeted with a brief view of his fangs, still sharp and pearly as ever, before his mouth clicks shut. “Morning,” Mao Mao slurs as he scratches the Lucky Ducky logo on the chest of his oversized, baby-blue T-shirt. He pads his way past you and further into the bathroom. He then takes his place next to you, in front of a sink and mirror that sit at an elevation much lower than your own. Slouching, he rubs his eyes to get a clearer view of his reflection.

"Sorry you didn't get to sleep more," you say.

Mao Mao shakes his head. "I figured I wouldn't be able to sleep in for too long. I'll get a nap or two in later."

"You better," you say with feigned authority. Your cheeks warm as you stare lovingly at Mao Mao. He’s always cute, but there’s a novelty to this particular brand. There’s a vulnerability, a resignation, in the way he allows his senses to dull around you. You know he trusts you, and it never fails to bring a smile to your face. That smile continues even as you notice the odd slope that the front of his shirt has.

It seems some parts of him are more awake than others.

You restrain yourself, holding your tongue in more ways than one for the time being. Instead, you rinse your toothbrush off and ask him what he wants to drink.

“Did you make coffee?” Mao Mao asks as he applies toothpaste to his brush.

“Nah, I didn’t get the chance to start it yet.”

He looks to the ceiling for inspiration. "Orange juice," he decides.

You nod and leave the bathroom to make your way towards the kitchen. It’s a short trip to the fridge, from which you take out the carton of orange juice and the jug of milk. As you place two tall glasses next to each other on the counter, an odd sensation washes over you. You become acutely aware of how…  _ normal _ this morning has been. You knew today was an oddity, but it’s only really hitting you now. Days like this don’t happen often enough for you to become numb to their restorative powers. The action, the chaos, the unpredictability, it all takes a toll on you; and as strong as Mao Mao is, you know it gets to him, too. Brief respites every once in a while does the mind and body good, but the liveliness that Mao Mao brings to your life is what makes them worth it. In your pining, you nearly pour too much milk into your glass. You take a few sips to bring the volume down to an amount you feel confident carrying. With the sound of the fridge door closing, your task is complete. The glasses are full, the drinks are back in the fridge, and you’re on your way back to Mao Mao.

Upon returning to your shared bedroom, you find Mao Mao looking outside through one of the windows. One forearm is pressed flat against the wall as he leans into it, his soft, shapely rump sticking out behind him. His tail stump creates a small bump at the base of his spine, the slight lift accentuating the curves below.

"There are some storm clouds rolling in," Mao Mao says unprompted, as if to stop you from staring. "Looks like it's gonna rain pretty hard."

You smile as you approach him from behind. "Sounds like we picked a good day to stay in," you say as you reach a hand around Mao Mao to give him his juice. He gives his thanks as he takes the glass from you. The two of you then silently listen to the sound of approaching rain as the gray clouds consume the sky overhead.

Some minutes pass by the time you both finish your drinks, just in time for the first droplets of rain to begin tapping against the window. You might have suggested another activity were it not for the hypnotic cacophony of rain hitting the house. It's oddly therapeutic, as demonstrated by Mao Mao's demeanor. Occasional glances at his reflection in the window see him wearing a calm, if tired, smile. He doesn’t complain about being stuck inside, he doesn’t fidget impatiently, and he doesn’t try to leave. He simply stands and stares. Each passing second further convinces you that today truly was perfect for a day off.

With a yawn Mao Mao turns, leans his back against the wall, and looks up at you, his empty glass held near his chest. “So, got any plans for the day?”

“No, I don't—" You interrupt yourself with a yawn of your own, albeit one that's noticeably more forced than his. "Y'know, I think I could use some more sleep, too."

He cocks his head and sighs in disappointment. "You could do some work around the house while I’m sleeping.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you pull him into your chest and say, “I’d rather spend time with you.” Your goal is twofold: to make sure he stays rested, and to be as close to him as possible for as long as possible.

Mao Mao crosses his arms and looks away from you, unable to hide the blood rushing to his cheeks. He then lets out a "hmph" in an attempt to appear unconvinced, but you have a feeling he's already made up his mind. “Talking sweet won't get you out of doing chores."

"They'll get done, just… later. I promise."

The sustained grumble he forces out as he pouts suggests an internal struggle, one he's pretending to have so that you won't think you got your way so easily. "I suppose I  _ would _ like the company…"

Satisfied, you give him a peck on the top of his head. "I know you will," you say with a wide smile.

Mao Mao sighs, his stoic expression belied by his burgeoning blush. He walks out of your embrace and he saunters towards the bed. "Well? What are we waiting for?"

The first thought in your mind is to pick him up in a bridal carry and gently place him into bed yourself; however, you realize you can’t carry Mao Mao to bed while you’re holding your glass, and silently curse your lack of foresight. There has to be another possibility—you can’t let him simply crawl back into bed. Time slows down as he approaches the bed, and you examine all the possibilities before you. Glasses… nightstand… blanket… Inspiration strikes and you enact your new plan.

Turning the situation around, you rush to take Mao Mao’s glass from him. He stares, shocked, as you zip past him and place both cups on your nightstand. Then, you quickly slip under the covers, fumbling a bit in the rush. Now that you’re in bed first, you pull back his corner of the blanket and pat the empty space, finishing your stunt by beckoning him with lidded eyes and a saucy grin.

Mao Mao’s expression shifts from surprise to amusement. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then settles on a half-smirk as he completes his approach to the bed. Propping himself up with both arms, he climbs over the edge of the mattress and crawls towards you on all fours. He finds his place under your raised arm, where he lays on his side and curls his body into yours.

With all of the pieces in place, you initiate the cuddle session. You lower the covers onto him, leaving only his head exposed. Then, you let go of the blanket and move that same arm behind his back. Your other arm lays flat under your head, keeping your head from sinking into your pillow. His forearms apply pressure to your chest, and he wriggles his body for a few seconds in order to find the most comfortable position to lie in. As you close your eyes, the sigh you push out of your nose causes his ears to flicker, soft and full fur briefly tickling your cheeks.

The harsh drumming of rain against glass juxtaposes the comfortable silence of your bedroom—an intense soundtrack to this moment of repose. Neither you nor Mao Mao bother to count the time that passes you by, letting it leave you behind and freeze the both of you in your embrace. Just as the storm rages on, nothing short of a force of nature could put an end to this moment.

You suppose that's why you suddenly feel something press firmly into your stomach.

Mao Mao wraps an arm around you and pulls himself as close to you as possible, his body flush with yours. In an instant, the soft and romantic air becomes thick and lusty. He stretches his legs, subtly grinding his erection between his body and yours.

Feeling compelled to get the ball rolling, you say, "I wasn't gonna say anything, but earlier—"

"I'm well aware," he says curtly, ceasing his motions while keeping his hard-on pressed against you.

"Need a hand?" If he could see your smirk, he'd probably deny you the chance to participate without a second thought.

"Y-yes… please," he mumbles into your chest.

You slide your hand down his back, around his side, and slip it between your bodies until you find the bump that twitches under your touch. He pivots himself away from you and lays flat on his back, allowing your wrist to move at a more comfortable angle. Your hand follows him and, with more room to work with, you continue to stroke his penis through his shirt, keeping it pressed against his stomach. He's keeping his legs pressed together for the time being, propping up his balls so that they meet your hand on every downstroke. To get a better view of the action you prop yourself up with the elbow of your free arm, and move your forearm behind his head.

Mao Mao briefly closes his eyes and sighs with content as he uses your forearm like a pillow. "Sure you don't wanna… get down there?" he asks you, looking down himself at the treatment he's receiving.

"If I did that," you say in a low voice, "then I wouldn't be able to do this." You lean your face over his, and can't help but part your lips into a grin as you lower your head towards his.

The kiss is soft and gentle, one meant to wordlessly reassure Mao Mao that he's gonna be just fine in your capable hands. He takes it well, as he is wont to do, and follows your lead.

First order of business is removing any obstructions in your path. One long stroke sees you leaving his dick behind, but pushing his shirt up his body. You pull away from the kiss, and feline paws aid your effort to disrobe your partner. The oversized piece of Lucky Ducky merchandise is tossed behind your back, and Mao Mao's second legendary sword is exposed from its sheath; however, unlike the golden Geraldine, you are regularly allowed to wield this perky, pink dagger to your heart’s content. It looms over his stomach, throbbing in time with his pulse.

Now that nothing stands between you and the culmination of Mao Mao’s frustrations, you lightly grasp it and very slowly slide your hand up and down its length. You rarely service him from this perspective, so you take a moment to soak in the view before you begin the handjob proper.

Your grip tightens and your motions quicken in pace. The soft, malleable barbs near his head provide little resistance as your fingers repeatedly push against and roll over them. Occasionally, you break your pace and change speeds, or you keep your hand near the head and firmly swirl your thumb and pointer digits around it.

Mao Mao hooks an arm behind your neck and grips your shoulder. His breaths deepen, and his stomach’s motions become more pronounced in turn. Beneath your hand, his hips subtly squirm and gyrate as they try to take control of the situation. His toes curl and the arm on your shoulders oscillates between tense and relaxed. He watches intently as you continue to service him, only breaking a couple of times to lean his head back against your arm and rest his neck.

“Do me a favor and look at me,” you gently request of him.

He reluctantly turns his embarrassed visage towards you. His face is beet red, and he averts his gaze from yours after only a moment of eye contact.

“You’re so cute,” you say without thinking.

A whine replaces his usual assertion of the contrary.

Spurred on by his overwhelming cuteness, you lean down and kiss him again. He wraps his free arm around your head and pulls you in even further. Your lips part along with his, and the meeting of tongues deepens the kiss. While you’ve got him in the palm of your hand, you jerk him off as fast as you can.

A gruff grunt from your partner breaks the kiss. With his arms still wrapped around you, he buries his face in your chest, keeping one eye on your hand as it brings him closer and closer to climax.

You have a feeling he's about to blow, so you offer one last bit of vocal encouragement. “That’s it. Take all your pent-up frustration and just… let it out.”

Mao Mao grips your shirt so hard that you can hear his claws pierce the fabric. His breaths are more like barely-suppressed whines through gritted teeth and flared nostrils, and the tensing of his muscles accompanies the clenching of his eyes. The arm he previously moved behind your head returns to its spot at his side, ready to grip the sheets at a moment's notice. His cock pulses repeatedly in your hand, and before you know it he’s cumming.

The force of his orgasm overpowers you, and his hips seize the reins of the operation by thrusting up into your hand harder than the rain outside is pounding the windows. The pleasure arches his back, digging his heels into the mattress and raising his butt above the bed. With nothing inhibiting the movement of his pelvis, his bucking intensifies to the point where his fuzzy balls hit your hand every thrust.

Thick spurts of semen land on his stomach, chest, and even his face. His loads are always potent, and this one is no different. There’s little you can do to stop him from cumming all over himself; the best you can do is keep a firm grip on his dick so that he doesn’t accidentally backflip into the wall behind him.

In time, his full-body thrusts grow lethargic, and his strength leaves him to fall limp against the mattress. His stomach rises high and falls deep with his ragged breaths. His eyes remain shut, but you have a feeling they’re in the back of his head. Further down his body, his little feline toes curl as if to flex out any lingering sexual energy. 

The sight of the tired, cum-soaked hero brings a smile to your face. You know you did your job and you did it well. You gently stroke his cock a couple last times to make sure he’s completely drained, then reward yourself by licking his cum off of your hand. It’s a taste you’ll never tire of, one that fills you with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Mao Mao lays still for at least a full minute, mouth agape as he pulls oxygen back into his exhausted system. He soon regains his strength, and looks down at himself with an annoyed expression on his face. “Oh, great… now I need a shower. That’s gonna take—”

Without missing a beat, you interrupt with a query: “Long enough for me to make you breakfast?”

He looks up at you, surprised at the offer. You smile down at him, and he drops his facade to follow suit. “Depends on what you’re making.”

You give him a peck on his forehead, then slide your arm out from under his head so you can leave the bed. “Any requests?” you ask as you stand up.

“Anything but omelettes, please.”

“Oh, come on.” You put your hands on your hips and cock your head, exaggerating your annoyance at his comment. “Just because my omelettes aren’t as perfect as yours doesn’t mean they’re bad.”

Mao Mao looks away and coughs into his paw.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, but drop your facade in favor of a smile as you make your way to the bedroom door.

"Thanks.”

His voice halts your departure. You turn around to see him blushing, unwilling to make eye contact with you. He would appear reluctant to express the sentiment were he not betrayed by his genuine smile.

Mentally, you pat yourself on the back for another job well done. "I love you," you say in a sing-song voice.

"Love you, too.”

You keep your eyes on him as you slowly pass through the doorway. Once you’re out of the room, you walk without pause towards the kitchen, wondering if you have enough batter for pancakes.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Hekmugi for beta-reading this! I feel like I got a little experimental with this fic. Hopefully it wasn't too distracting, or if it was that it was in a good way.
> 
> Comments? Criticisms? Let me know what you think!


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